Page 2 of Eluding the Billionaire
I’ve dated on and off in the past, and I’ve even had three relationships that could be classified as serious. The longest one went for more than two years until we realized that life away from the good times vibe at college wasn’t really going to work for us. He had his career to work on and I had mine. At least I can proudly say that my breakups were all amicable. You just know when things aren’t working anymore and it’s time to call it quits. Luckily for me, they knew it wasn’t working either. Staying friends after a breakup means no awkward meetings in the future. That was my golden rule until Drew, but he’s made it impossible to do that.
Yes, Sarah is right. After five months, it’s time I dated again. And trying to knock thoughts of Drew out of my head with my cell is only going to give me a bigger headache.
I drop my hand back to my lap and scroll to the selfies on my phone, all of which were snapped sometime last night. I can’t hold back a smile as I look through the set of photos. Each photo is goofier than the last and a record of the number of cocktails we downed as the night went on. I flick back to the photo we took earlier in the day. Our heads pushed close together, my friend’s blond, shoulder-length waves in stark contrast to my straight, dark longer strands, and her bright blue eyes the complete opposite to my darker brown ones. Opposites in looks and, I guess, personalities. Sarah has always been the loud, party-loving, good-time girl. I’m quieter. Reserved—almost shy—but always happy to let my friends lead me astray.
Sarah and I have been best friends since elementary school, our families living within a block of each other in Manhattan. Then, in high school, when Sarah’s parents moved back to their home in England, she begged them to let her stay on as a boarder for her final year. They relented, and that was how we met Allie, my other best friend from school. The three of us were inseparable that final year and became known as the Glamazons. A stupid nickname really, but I guess if we had to have a label, it was a pretty cool one. It was also accurate, given that we loved fashion and were the three tallest girls in the senior class.
The jocks loved us while the cheerleaders hated us. And we became a target for some of their nastier comments. None of it really bothered us, though, as we had each other. The backing of Logan helped too. No one dared to say anything bad about me for fear of being ostracized by my brother and his friends.
Logan, like Hunter and Blake, was a sports legend in our school. Track and field, basketball, and swimming. You name a sport, and my brothers excelled at it. Especially as they all grew in their teens to be around six foot five. Funny how I never felt tall in my family.
Thoughts of our teen years together remind me that I need to call Allie later tonight. I wonder how things are going between her and Logan now that she’s no longer his reluctant roommate and is instead living across the hall from him in my old apartment.
To say those two don’t get along would be an understatement.
Later that night, lying in my bed in the dark, I release a heavy sigh. I’ve been sighing a lot lately, and tonight’s sigh is filled with the frustration of not being able to get to sleep. My mind is still stuck like a broken record on thoughts of Drew. I really needed this weekend away from my flat in Kensington, but now, back at home, I feel lonely. I never felt like this before I met him. My flat was my sanctuary, and my life was full of new experiences and new friends. I don’t remember even thinking about dating anyone in those first few months. I didn’t have time. There was so much to fill my days with, like settling into a new country and a new senior executive role.
Before moving to London, I would probably have called myself a casual dater. Just like the next girl, I enjoy going out to dinner with a nice guy, but I can honestly say few have tempted me beyond a dinner date. My Mr. Right just hasn’t come along yet. I’ve never even given all that much thought to settling down. But since Drew, my head is stuck on the idea of having my own special someone waiting for me when I come home at the end of a busy day. It could just be an age thing. After all, I’ll be thirty next year.
My eyes drift closed, and memories of the first time I met Drew flicker to life, like one of those old movie reels I love watching while I’m curled up on my sofa.
But unlike those movies, it pains me to think that Drew and I don’t have a happy ending.
Chapter two
Katie
Eight Months Before
“Let’sparty,”Sarahshoutsas she raises her cocktail glass high, then takes a sip. I smile broadly back at her, and following her lead, I take a sip of my own fizzy pink drink.
Before I can put my glass back down, she shouts again, “Come on!” Then reaches for my hand, and we race toward the dance floor. I’m struggling to hear her over the pounding beat of the music coming from tonight’s DJ, but her intent can’t be mistaken. It’s time to dance.
The music blares out from the huge speakers at each end of the temporary stage, reverberating and swirling around the mass of people already gyrating on the dance floor. Sarah flings her arms above her head, her blond hair glowing pink, then blue in the strobing lights. My best friend dances like nobody’s watching, and I love her total disregard for social norms. Space magically clears around us, some people choosing to step out of the way, others—particularly the guys—just wanting to watch her.
Sarah’s always been the trailblazer of our group, while Allie and I bask in her effervescent glow. I could never be outrageously carefree like Sarah. Nor could I be as sexually adventurous as her, not with my limited experience. But when it comes to over-the-top dancing, I can do that.
I throw my head back, laughing at her wild antics before happily mimicking her silly exaggerated dance moves. For once, I can enjoy the freedom of letting loose from all the stresses of another busy work week. There haven’t been enough nights like this since I arrived in London nearly three months ago, and it’s time I rectified the situation.
Tonight, we plan on having fun. Nothing too wild that would cause word to get back to my family in the States, but just enough for a short stroll down crazy street. So far, our plan is coming together beautifully. We’ve slipped into party-girl mode as simply as putting on an old favorite sweater hiding in the back of your closet. Though our outfits bear no resemblance to old sweaters. Instead, our dresses are short, body hugging, and plunging. Sarah’s silver sequined sheath is as shiny and gobsmacking as a disco ball from the eighties, perfectly suiting her personality. While my more subdued black velvet fitted dress feels like a sprayed on second skin. The V-cut at the front provides an ample view of the deep valley between my breasts, and the backless scoop skims tantalizingly low over my butt. It’s very revealing, but I have no fear of flashing the room thanks to some strategically positioned tape, a must-have fashion accessory for every party girl.
These publishing awards after-parties are infamous, which is why I wanted Sarah to come to London to join me. She’s so much more out there than I could ever be and will guarantee I stay instead of sneaking off to my room upstairs for an early night since the formalities for the evening are complete.
The opulent ballroom at the Grosvenor House Hotel has been transformed into the ultimate party venue. My whole team is here celebrating, especially after taking the coveted International Publisher of the Year Award. Hunter will be very happy.
I look up at the ornate ceiling with gold chandeliers that send out shards of pinks and blues as the colored DJ lights hit them from all angles. Mesmerized by the spray of color and too many cocktails, I spin around too fast, wobbling on my black patent Manolo Blahnik heels before tumbling into a solid wall of suited muscle. Strong arms wrap around my body and two large hands land on my hips, steadying me. It’s the only reason I don’t end up on my butt, flashing the entire room my barely covered lady bits.
My hands are braced on the arms encasing me, and I look up to thank my rescuer, but the words I plan to say end up stuck in my throat. The man is gorgeous, with an impossibly perfect face that takes my breath away but also simultaneously sends warning signals blaring. Damn, Michelangelo would have even been jealous of those carved features.
The perfection doesn’t end there. Each dark hair on his head is smoothed back from his forehead, parted on the left, and holding their position as if glued in place. The devil in me wants to run my hands through it, ruffling it up, but I wouldn’t dare as his steely blue-gray eyes remain laser focused on mine. The three-day growth on his sharp, lean jawline is almost too even to be believed. This man is flawless. His full lips part as if he’s about to say something, but then close again as we continue to stare at each other.
This is the type of guy I usually avoid. But not tonight. Instead, I smile up at the hot stranger because it’s been too long since I’ve been held in the arms of a man that I’m this attracted to. It’s not like I’m looking for some deep, meaningful moments. I don’t have time for that anyway. But a bit of flirtatious fun? Sign me up. This guy with a playful smile now tugging at the corner of those kissable lips is exactly what I need.
He bends so his head is level with mine, and a waft of rich, spicy cologne teases my senses. Those appealing lips are now closer, brushing accidentally or perhaps intentionally against my ear. “All right, lass?” he says in a throaty, immediately recognizable Scottish accent that sends a vibration of pleasure zinging through my body. I’m getting seriousOutlandervibes.
I may have only lived in England for three months, but it didn’t take me long to discover that the mellow but sometimes harsh sound of a Scottish accent is my favorite. My stomach clenches at the thought of that voice whispering dirty things in my ear in the bedroom.
Whoa, slow up, girl.Since when have I met a guy and instantly wondered what he’d be like in bed? Maybe some of Sarah’s personality is rubbing off on me.
